And His Prophet, Butthead
by ladybeavis
Summary: In the universe of Beavis and Butthead, you never knew much about their childhoods, just the stuff in the present. Just like Beavis did in the first story 'The Life of the Almighty Bunghole', Butthead will explain to you milestone events in their lives, plus other stuff that wasn't mentioned by Beavis!


**Hello FanFiction! This story will probably make more sense if you read one of my other stories first – The Life of the Almighty Bunghole – since the events happening in this one won't be as vivid if they already occurred in TLOTAB, so if you want full detail of some things then you should really read that one first. If not, then you might be a little confused, but maybe not.**

**TRIGGER WARNING: There is triggering content in here, such as talks of suicide and vague drug usage. There is also lots of cussing.**

**This story goes hand in hand with TLOTAB, with the events happening in chronological order, some occurring in the first fanfiction, some not. **_**Extremely **_**OOC at first but grows more into character farther into the story, since I see Butthead as a dynamic character. Not only that, but people act differently as kids. They're especially extremely attached to their mothers, like in this case.**

**(As usual, I will gladly take negative reviews. Just please keep them civil! If they aren't civil, then they will be deleted, since I asked you not to be rude right here. Annnnnywaaaay, enjoy!)**

…

How the hell do you start off a story about yourself? Like, with facts and stuff? If that's the case, then okay…

My name's Butthead.

Make fun of it and so help you God

I have a very annoying little (half) brother named Beavis that is glued to my side in every waking minute and it gets on my nerves something terrible.

Yeah. That's all you really need to know about me, but since I'm in an alright mood, I'll tell you more anyway.

Beavis and I are often seen as best friends, since we fight a lot, look nothing alike, and just don't act like brothers. For a start, we're technically not _full _brothers—we have the same dad but different moms, so we're half-brothers. We don't look alike because we both look like our moms, who are like total opposites.

We live alone now… but, uh, it's okay, because I raised both of us almost our entire lives and I think we're alright. It's a long story so I might as well just start from the beginning.

…

Mom drank a lot and did drugs while she was pregnant with me just like my Aunt Pamela did when she was pregnant with Beavis. I don't know why they did, but I'm pretty sure that it's because Pam pressured my mom into doing it. Thanks to that, I have Fetal Alcohol Syndrome, which basically means my face deformed in the womb because all my mom ever drank was beer and scotch. The drugs thankfully didn't really affect me, but Beavis you can't help but feel bad for. He has FAS too, only the drugs his mom did had gotten to his brain and now he has a bunch of things wrong with him. It is what it is, I suppose.

We've only seen our dad in pictures, so I can't place a voice or demeanor on him; I only have his image to remember him by. Although it's been eighteen years since me and Beavis were born, so I'm sure he's gained weight and has an aged face. My mom never really liked to talk about our dad and I never knew why. If I asked about him, she'd turn really sour and snap at me that she had better things to do. For her to yell at me was unlike Mom, since she was always a calm and level-headed person. When I was little and went to visit relatives, I was told I acted just like her. Despite how inde… indepin… alone I seem now, I used to be really close to Mom. Like, extremely close. That's why it hurt when she left, but I guess shit happens.

The house that me, Beavis, Mom, and Pam – B's mom – lived in is the same one that I live in now. I don't have memories of the first couple of years we lived there, but I can start pulling stuff up from my memory from when we were about three, starting when I first needed my braces.

…

I know you're probably thinking I somehow managed to smash my face on pavement or something, but surprisingly no. Like most people, my teeth were just naturally crooked. They had large gaps between each other too since I used to have a habit of chewing on my blankets back when my teeth were actually growing in. By doing that I fucked myself over into having to get braces, but you know, it happens.

The night before I was scheduled to get them on, I was a nervous wreck. I wouldn't eat anything and didn't do anything besides watch TV. Of course, like always, Beavis was at my side, giggling and kicking his feet against the couch, which made a quiet knocking sound every time his heel hit it.

"You know, I don't think it's _that _bad," he tried to cheer me up, his blue eyes smiling at me kindly. "Besides, the guy said you'll only have to have them on for only two years if you take care of your teeth."

"Yeah?" I replied real pissy, flicking my eyes over to him with such a glare that the smile was wiped from his face and replaced with a frown. "What 'taking care of your teeth' means is not chewing gum and basically not being able to eat anything you like!" I puffed out my cheeks. "I'll just do it anyway; I don't care what anybody says."

Beavis pressed his elbows to his ribs and met both of his hands at his chest, toying with his fingers shyly. He looked like he wanted to argue with me but was too afraid to do it, since I'll even admit I was really mean when I was little. I turned to watch TV again before Mom popped in through the doorway.

"Go ahead, sir, be my guest," she smirked, "You'll just have to spend the rest of your life with metal on your teeth. Chicks don't like that, you know."

I felt defeated. My obsession of chicks hadn't began when I was a teenager; it always lived inside me. I then started to debate inside my head whether or not I was going to defy orthodontists' orders. I heard my mom laugh and call for Beavis, who then quickly hugged me goodnight and scurried after her. I never liked it when he hugged me, so I made a face when they were both gone and wiped my shoulder with my palm and wiped it on my pants. He was always a bit of a baby to me.

Mom came down about ten minutes later to get me. I turned the TV down and hopped off the couch with every intention of walking upstairs, but instead, she scooped me up over her shoulder and carried me instead.

"You're not good at hiding your nervousness." She admitted, pulling the covers over me and sitting on the edge of my bed.

I hesitated. "I'm not nervous," I lied, and Mom laughed real loud and threw her arms around me.

"Bud, it's gonna be fine. They're just putting braces on your teeth, not amputating your right leg."

"Amp… Ampu…?"

"Cutting off."

I shrunk down, my face real hot. "I don't know why I'm nervous."

"Yes you do. Tell me."

"…No."

"You can tell me anything, you know that?"

Borrowing B's nervous habit, I began to play around with my fingers. "I guess… I'm afraid… of being made fun of? Not only that, I'm nervous just because…"

Mom grinned and nudged me lightly. "You? Afraid of being made fun of?" I can still hear the guffaw she made then. I grew extremely embarrassed and hid under the covers.

"Stop!" I cried, holding my hands over my ears, which felt warm. I still had a lisp despite my braces. She said it loud enough that Beavis would've heard it and I didn't like that at all. I always ratted on him for being a wussy, so if he found out that I was scared of something as stupid as that then I would never live it down.

Of course now if he made fun of me I would just kick his ass, but I wouldn't dare do something like that back then, mainly because of the things that happened to him that I'll get to later. I would feel no better than my Aunt Pamela.

"Okay, okay," Mom joked, pulling me out from under the blankets. She kissed me on the forehead and walked over to the door and skimmed her hand over the light. "Goodnight, love." She said as she walked out. Her fingers wrapped around the doorknob and slowly pulled it shut.

"Wait!" I called. The door was only an inch from shutting. Mom opened it back up but still stood in the doorway.

"What is it, babe?"

I curled my fingers on the end of my quilt. "What time will you be home from work?"

She looked at her feet with her lips scrunched to the side, which was a habit that ran in our household. I played with my fingers while a smile spread across her face over a lapse of about ten seconds.

"Do you think you'll get really nervous in the middle of the night?" 

"Yes…" I admitted. Normally, she "worked" at night since she was a prostitute. It was my aunt that worked during the day and came home as my mom was about to leave, normally drunk off her ass. Mom refused to leave me or Beavis until Pamela got home, which sometimes never happened. About twice a month, my Mom would wait at the kitchen table half-asleep in wait, her perfume flooding the entire room and her makeup beginning to smear when she accidentally rubbed her eyes to keep herself awake.

"Maybe I'll just skip work tonight," she finally decided, cracking a smile out of me. "If you need me, I'll be in my room, okay?"

I nodded happily and she walked back over to me, kissing me on the cheek. "Don't be nervous. It's just braces."

I'm not sure why, but when she actually shut the door and I was consumed by the darkness, I felt this extreme sense of loneliness. I'm not sure where it came from or why it was there. But at that moment, I realized that my life actually really sucked. I'd laugh at myself if I knew that it was just gonna go downhill from there. I was a dumbass.

…

I had made it about four hours in before I wandered into Mom's room. I wasn't nervous; I just wanted to take advantage of the fact Pamela never came home and spend the night with her without Beavis chirping on her other side.

She had her back facing the door and was sound asleep, but that didn't stop me from shuffling over to her and tapping her a couple of times. Her body twitched a little bit before she actually shifted her weight, craning her neck to look behind her. She was a little disoriented – her eyes tired and half open – but when she registered that it was me standing there she woke up a little more.

"Oh," her voice croaked from exhaustion, and she grabbed under my shoulders and lifted me up next to her. I didn't get under the covers, I just nestled against her. She had her own kind of smell that was a mixture of vanilla and soap. Ever since she left me I'm sure that's changed into something like beer and desperation or some shit.

"Are you scared; is that why you came in here?" She touched her hand to my face, smiling.

"No," I replied honestly, "I just wanted to be in here with you."

She seemed to understand, 'cause she said nothing else and caressed the back of my head. I heard her blow out a sigh – it almost sounded like sadness, but I didn't question it. I was practically asleep when the door swung open, scaring both of us, and the light switch was flipped with a thud. Mom jolted up and I just kinda threw my body forward to sit up since I didn't have the strength to sit up like a normal person.

"Lydia," a familiar voice slurred, "Why the fuck aren't you gone yet?" Mom rolled her eyes at me with a smirk on her face to make me laugh before she looked over at Pamela, who was wobbling all over the place.

"You know I don't leave the boys alone here." Mom was sitting right next to me, and I had my face squished up against her arm, staring off into space while somewhat listening to what they were saying. Out of my peripheral vision I saw my aunt look down at me and stumble forward a little. I lifted my gaze to her and took note of how Mom tensed up ever so slightly.

"Oh yeah, don't you like, get something tomorrow?" She looked me over before laughing at nothing, clearly drunk by not only her actions but the smell of scotch on her breath. "Important stuff or some shit?"

"Yeah, my braces. Only the top row." Despite the burning hatred I had for my aunt, I still tried to respect her. Mom always taught me that even if you really didn't like someone, you could weaken them with kindness. Not Beavis, though. You could hit him with a bat; he doesn't apply to that rule, I guess.

"Hopefully they don't fuck up and break all your teeth in the process." Pamela purred with a sly grin, knowing damn well that the idea would haunt me. My hands immediately were covering my mouth, pressing against my lips tightly as if that would hold my teeth in and keep them from falling out. Mom didn't even have time to react because my aunt basically fell out of the room and dragged herself to her own bedroom.

She got up and turned the light off before sitting back next to me. "You know that can't actually happen, right?" Mom had my hand in hers and was rubbing the back of my hand with her thumb in an attempt to calm me down, since I guess I was visibly shaken. The fear of losing all my teeth wasn't what I was upset about, though.

"I really hate her." I sputtered, crossing my arms in front of my chest and puffing my cheeks out. My breathing was staggered with anger.

"I know, hon," Mom agreed, resting her chin on the crown of my head, "Me too."

…

"Does your mouth hurt? Is the metal cold? Can I touch them?"

I leant away from Beavis's most-likely-dirty hands and grabbed his wrist. "Beavis, stop!" I whined. My voice was really stiff since I didn't move my mouth very much. My teeth felt like they were about to crack in a million tiny pieces and I didn't like how the brackets scraped against the insides of my lips when I talked. He just trying to touch them made them even worse.

"Hey, don't bother him, okay?" Mom interfered, putting a hand on Beavis's head and petting his golden pompadour, "He's always irritable as it is, and he's ten times as worse now." 

"Irritable?" B questioned, peering up at Mom. I silently cursed at how he always tried to act innocent and cute, opening his eyes wide at adults so his big blue irises would charm them into giving him what he wanted. Or, he just did it to make them coo over how adorable he was. But then again, he was starved of attention from Pamela, who clearly didn't give two shits about his existence. He needed attention somehow; thank god it wasn't negative attention that he sought out.

"Just don't bother him." Mom firmly nodded with a smile and grabbed both of our hands, herding us over to some rusty bench that screamed tetanus. She was basically Beavis's mom too, since she was the one who did everything for him that a mom should do. Mom did so much for him, actually, that I wouldn't have even cared if that's what he called her. But no, he insisted on calling her his "Auntie Lydia", which also got on my nerves. Everything Beavis does gets on my nerves. He gets on my nerves.

Mom made us sit down next to each other, our feet dangling off the edge, and she knelt in front of us.

"So," she said, this huge grin on her face, "What do you want to do?"

I crinkled my nose. What? What did we want to do? I just held my mouth open for an hour and a half, did she honestly think that I wanted to 'do anything'?

"I just wanna go home and sleep." I groaned, slumping my shoulders to show my disagreement in doing something or whatever the hell she was talking about. I also kinda wanted to watch TV. Spiderman normally came on around that time. (Let's be honest here, what boy _didn't _like Spiderman? Don't even answer that, you are no exception.)

"You can sleep when you're dead!" Mom cried out, laughing this time. She was very loud and I slouched even lower, trying to look invisible to the people that were passing by us and giving us looks of judgment. "Come on, let's go somewhere! Let's do something! It's a nice day, we could do something outside!" After seeing that I wasn't going to mention something, she looked over at B and asked for his suggestions.

"I think we should do whatever Butthead wants to do!" he peeped. Classic Beavis, always going with my ideas. That was one of the few things I liked about him.

Mom slumped her shoulders, sticking her tongue in her left cheek, looking at both of us. "Well, I mean… do you really wanna go back home? You're there every single day."

I nodded quickly, going "Uh huh!" while Beavis did that smile of his he thought was cute while nodding regularly, kicking his feet back and forth under the bench. Clearly not wanting to argue with two three-year-old boys, Mom took us both back home, defeated.

…

I could always tell Beavis had something wrong with him, because if he was sitting right next to you and you tried to say something to him, he'd always kinda stare into space as if he didn't hear you. In reality, he did, but something was going on in his head that distracted him from paying attention. If he actually did answer you, he'd be talking to you, but he'd be looking at the center of the wall. He's still like that now, but it's not as bad since he's just loaded with all sorts of medicines that help it. You couldn't help but feel just a little bad every time he had a panic attack too, hiding under tables while screaming, crying, and swatting at whoever tried to get him out. Those were the ones that you had to let blow over, since he'd fix himself and return to whatever he was doing as if nothing happened. That was before he was diagnosed with schizophrenia, but that's a complete different story.

Sometime a couple years later, he was diagnosed with childhood-onset schizophrenia and was put on all these experimental medicines to try to completely cure it. It helped just a little, but the first week or two the side effects of the shit ton of pills. The worst part was, he had that thing where you couldn't remember anything – anesthesia, is it? – and didn't remember ever being put on the antipsychotics at all. Even if you asked him today about those first couple weeks of being on them he would look at you like you were insane and assume you were making up stories. But it was bad.

There was this huge fight between Pamela and Mom over how they should've handled the situation, but they finally decided that it would be best if Mom was the one who would have to deal with B until the side effects wore off while Pam was the one who "earned our family's income".

In other words, Mom had to go every day and night on like, two hours of sleep for two weeks straight while my aunt slept around with every man in Highland twice. God, I really fucking hated my aunt.

The first time he started acting funny was in the summer, early in the morning. I was sitting on the kitchen floor talking to Mom when he just kinda tripped down the stairs. Being motherly, Mom dropped what she was doing and ran over to him and helped him up.

"Are you alright?" she asked, concerned, "You just… Were you watching where you were going?"

He seemed kind of shaky, his hair a matted mess, but he shook his head and pulled away from Mom. "Yeah, I'm okay." Beavis backed up almost completely up the stairs, his eyes nervously darting around the room as if he were looking at a giant crowd of people instead of just his aunt and brother. He kept backing up until his back hit the wall where it met the opening of the stairway. "Oh," he quietly said, turning around to see what he ran into, skimming his fingers against the wall before facing us again.

I could feel my eyebrows scrunched in confusion. The matted hair part was really confusing me, because even when he slept his pompadour never changed its shape. My eyes moved down his entire body out of curiosity if anything else was out of place, and they stopped on this huge bruise on his thigh surrounded by a few small, red circles. My stare was broken after a couple seconds when he pulled his shorts down a little lower to cover them, holding them in place. I looked up at him and he had a hurtful look of anger washed across his face, his lips pouty, his eyebrows just barely slanted inward, and his cheeks hot. He never liked me to acknowledge his bruises and cigarette burns; I guess he just liked to ignore them, which was impossible if I stared at them all the time.

Oh yeah, I forgot: Pamela often abused him when she came home at night for no reason. She'd grind her lit cigarettes into his skin, claw at him, and lash out at him while he cried and cowered and called my name. I was always afraid to try and help him, because I thought Pamela would pull me into it and hurt me too. I felt extremely bad when he'd scream for me every night and I was too much of a coward to save him. The worst part was, Mom knew about it, she just chose not to do anything. And THAT was what really pissed me off, because I couldn't believe that she'd be fine with the fact that her nephew was beat bloody every single night. That was one of the sources of my sour and stubborn nature, because I'd get really selfish toward her at times because I'd be mad that she wouldn't act. But back to his antipsychotic adventure, or whatever.

"Beavis, are you okay?" Mom looked really worried, walking toward him with her hand outstretched. With each step she took, the smaller his pupils got and the wider his eyes. Finally, when she went to touch his face, he smacked her hand away and fell to the floor in a heap.

"_Don't touch me!" _he cried out, squeezing his palms on his ears so tight you'd have thought he'd be in pain.

Mom was extremely frightened and confused, staring down at him with huge eyes, a hand at her mouth. She turned to me as if I knew what the hell was happening to him, but I shook my head and walked next to her, looking down at my brother who was having a complete breakdown.

"_Beavis, tell me what's wrong!"_ Mom finally cried out, visibly freaked, kneeling next to him with a hand on his forehead to feel for fever. Of course, he lost it and ripped it away, squirming out of the corner he was stuck in and bolting up the stairs.

Mom just stayed there, shocked, her mouth open but no words coming out. Finally, she stood up and called the hospital, who, after being told his recent medical history, concluded that he was just reacting to the antipsychotics. Yeah, we knew there'd be side effects – we were told that from the beginning – but it was all too weird to not question. They concluded the call by telling her that she probably shouldn't give him any sugar either.

After she hung up, she turned to me, sweat pouring down her forehead but relief visible on her face. "That's just asinine," she said and I had absolutely _no _idea whatsoever what that word meant, "Not give a little boy sugar? I'll stick to that for about a week and then I'll crack."

I just shrugged. I was looking at Mom (who looks just like me, our chestnut hair and brown eyes the same), but I was too busy tuned in to Beavis's psychotic wailing upstairs. It was at that point that I realized that I regretted not being able to make friends, because there was no place I could escape from my twitchy blond sidekick, and I would be stuck with his claustrophobia and haphephobia and craziness as long as those side effects were kicked in. I could always go to my grandparents, but they lived in Houston and I just wanted a day at a time away from Beavis; not entire weeks, which is what Mom would have to do if I were to go over there because of gas. As of today I have no idea if they're still alive- probably not, but the only reason I knew them was because Mom went over there to vent to them about things and she'd have to lug me along. She used to vent to me, too, and it was admittedly nice. But that's another story…

After experimenting with different levels of sugar over the course of a week, Mom finally figured out what to do.

"Okay," she began one night after bringing me upstairs to go to bed, "You definitely can't give him sugar."

"Why not?" I asked, even though I was right there every time she gave him anything. I was probably too busy watching TV or something, I dunno.

"If you give him any at all, he'll go all insane and need more and will scrounge the house like a crack addict."

I bet you she didn't notice that I did, but upon mentioning the words 'crack addict', she cringed and flinched with irony. That normally wasn't something you heard coming out of a crack addict's mouth such as herself.

"Whenever he has one of those panic attacks, it's the strangest thing. He never remembers them. No matter how much you ask him about them, he'll be really confused and will think that you're making stuff up." She shook her head. "But anyway, God forbid should you ever be around him when he's exposed to sugar, you can't calm him. You'll have to wait it out. But for the love of—" she put a palm to her forehead, running it down her face in exhaustion, "—don't EVER leave him alone when he's on a hype. I'm afraid of what will happen."

I nodded, and she kissed me goodnight, cracking my door. I stared at the ceiling, my mind wide awake. I wasn't necessarily thinking about anything in particular; it was just that I didn't have time to think during the day. Something told me I never would.

…

Years went on and nothing really changed. Eventually Mom stopped having to stay home and watch after Beavis and continued to sleep around with every man in Highland to keep us all alive. There was Pamela who did the same thing, but her efforts were never rewarding to her son or nephew to say the least. All she ever bought was drugs. She just leeched off of my mom's earnings, which pissed me off.

But a time came where Mom remembered that she had a degree in medical science, which was a high-paying field at the time. She dug it out of dusty boxes in the basement with me right next to her to hold a flashlight. We didn't have lighting in the basement and had to depend on two little windows toward the ceiling to bring in sunlight. Beavis was with Pamela for once, but I had no idea where.

Heaving another box next to her, she squealed when she reached the bottom box.

"I think this one's it, Butthead!" She cried, throwing open the flaps of cardboard, taking out what appeared to be photo albums and setting them on the cold concrete next to her. I took note of her acknowledgement of them but obvious disregard of them. I figured they were wedding pictures. Maybe I'd look at those later.

"You think so?" I put my tongue in my cheek, shifting my weight on my right leg, resulting in the flashlight's beam to go down.

"Hey- fix the-…" Mom twisted her body to the side and put her hand against mine, pushing it upwards a little so the flashlight was focused on the box. When she turned back around, I grinned, showing my metal-wearing teeth, and purposely moved the beam down again. She looked at me with her fake glare on her face and I laughed, letting her fix it again and finally holding it in place.

She searched in silence for two more minutes before letting out this high pitched screech, catching me off guard and scaring the living hell out of me. She lifted this dusty brown frame out of the bottom, blowing all the dust off.

"There it is!" she cheered, tears welling in her eyes, "My medical degree!"

Her body seemed to go limp for a second out of nostalgia before she snapped around to face me.

"We're gonna be okay," she exclaimed, breaking into tears, setting the frame next to me and pulling me into an embrace. "We're gonna be okay." She repeated, squeezing me tighter.

I just said 'yeah' out of uncertainty of _what _to say and let her cry. There was an opening at one of those kid doctor places and if she got the job she wouldn't have to be a prostitute anymore. She hadn't done drugs in years, so she was in the clear there for sure. I hoped her claims would be valid.

…

Sure enough, the job was as good as ours, and she took the four of us out to dinner to celebrate.

Beavis and I were seven at the time. He was glued to Pam's side, who surprisingly held his hand and showed motherly actions toward him that day, rather than the usual brush-off attitude she had toward him. It seemed really out of place and I found it suspicious, but didn't really care that much. As for me, I was always at my mom's side.

Mom was obviously a lot happier, a smile always on her face and was randomly pulling one of us into this tight hug every couple of minutes. She really thought everything was okay.

The place we went to was this popular Italian place that was always packed. I know she chose it because she knew how much I loved Italian food.

Seriously. LOVE Italian food. This place was the closest fucking thing you had to Olive Garden, I kid you not. Their breadsticks were almost as good, too, and that's saying something right there.

Anyways, the place was so packed that they only had three chairs. Mom frowned and began to scan the room for any free ones. I tugged Beavis's sleeve to get his attention, who looked over in curiosity. I smirked and poked Mom, who looked down.

"Hey…" I said coyly, putting my hands behind my back and kicking my one foot, "You know, me and Beavis wouldn't mind sharing a seat if it means we can have all the breadsticks we want."

Mom chuckled, putting a hand on her hip. "I don't know… you have, like, a fetish for breadsticks or something. I might be paying a lot…"

"Yeah, well our buttcheeks are paying a lot by only using one chair, since one of them will be numb from not being able to sit on anything."

"Okay, you got me," Mom laughed, putting her hands up, "Unlimited breadsticks." Beavis squealed and grabbed the backs of my sleeves, half-hugging me and half-doing-lord-knows-what, visibly excited. Pamela was just kinda standing there, looking around the room, probably looking for customers of hers. I scowled while Beavis freaked out happily behind me, glaring at his mom. Undoubtedly, any customers she saw were with their wife and kids, since Pamela was the kind of whore that just didn't care.

Beavis and I wound up eating nothing but breadstick basket after breadstick basket that night. We were also having enjoyable conversations, talking to each other on one side of the table while our moms were on the other. Suddenly, out of my side vision, I saw Mom casually reach over and try to steal one of my breadsticks.

I grabbed her hand and tugged. "Hey, you made a deal with us!" I cried, attempting to stick my fingers under hers so I could pry them open and reclaim my breadstick. Beavis was whooping with laughter next to me, apparently finding my struggle funny or something. Eventually, Mom lost the battle and let go of it, the breadstick all squished and misshapen and full of holes from her fingers.

"Okay, dude, you can have it." She said, laughing, grabbing her own fork again. Before anybody else could take _my _breadstick, I shoved the whole thing in my mouth. B was still pissing himself in hilarity next to me, which I had no idea why. Nothing was funny.

Pam and Mom talked a little more while Beavis and I did the same, both of us having mouths full of breadsticks. He was in the middle of saying something when he suddenly looked over at our moms and gasped. I flicked my eyes over to them in confusion, stopping my chewing.

Pamela said something about talking about something in front of us, and Mom said something sarcastic back, and then Beavis blurted out something else that made Pamela give him the ultimate death glare.

"He's right, let's just drop it," Mom seemed to panic, immediately facing me. "How about that Yankees vs. Reds game last night?" Her urgency to change the subject from whatever she was talking about with Pam was almost scaring me, and I'll admit, I was getting a little frightened. I was going to answer her but I couldn't open my mouth since it was stuffed with breadsticks.

I flinched when Pamela slammed her fists onto the table, getting her face really close to Beavis's. Beavis began to panic and dug his fingernails into my arm, but I didn't care. Every muscle in my body tensed up, my gaze focused 100% on Pamela. If she hurt him, so help me god. There probably wasn't much that I could do since I was so little, but I was fed up. All those years with Pamela abusing Beavis for no reason and then him running to me for help really aggravated me. Beavis might've gotten on my nerves but I allowed him to seek my company on those nights where his bruises were freshened and new cigarette burns found their way onto his wrists. I hated Pamela already; she was just digging herself a deeper hole.

"How the hell do you know what we're talking about?" Pamela boomed, screaming it right in his face in the middle of the crowded restaurant. I could hear all of the conversations hushing around us as they all watched as we had a 'family moment'. Well, 'they' had a family moment.

"_Mama, people are staring!_" he cried out, his bottom lip quivering like mad. I felt him move towards me a little more.

"You know everything, don't you, you little brat?" Pamela spat right in his face, causing him to yell out a piercing cry of fear. That was when Mom ripped her back and began to scream in HER face about how she was a terrible mother, blah blah blah. Beavis put his head on the table. Between his crying next to me and their fighting across from me, I noticed I had eaten all the breadsticks. I looked around and saw a waitress kinda staring at us from a couple tables over. I ordered another basket of breadsticks. It was the only thing that was gonna keep me sane.

…

When we got home, I knew exactly what was going to happen, and fought furiously against my mom's strong grip. I could do nothing but watch as Pamela dragged my little brother up the stairs by his ear while he screamed. I had enough.

"_Let me go!_" I howled, kicking my feet back to try to hit Mom's shins, but I could never hit her. "_Why do you always just watch? We need to help him! She's hurting him!_"

Mom knelt down on the floor behind me and pulled me in, squeezing me tightly. My back still was to her, so I continued trying to kick and punch her.

"There's nothing we can do," she said, rather sad, resting her head next to mine on my shoulder.

"_Yes there is! You could go up there and kick her ass! There's a million things you could do and you _never _do them! Ever!_"

"That's not how that works, Butthead." She sounded a little irritated yet fearful, her words as shaky as her breath was. What I didn't understand was why she was being so vague with her responses.

"_Yes it does!_" I screamed so loud that my voice cracked on the last word. I still struggled, but eventually, I began to cry, my tears dissolving my fight into nothing, and instead I found myself buried inside Mom's neck. Despite the fact that I was just trying to hit her moments before, Mom comforted me, picking me up and taking me to my room. I cried harder when we passed the bathroom, which is where Pamela had taken B. I couldn't hear anything and I didn't know whether or not that was a good thing. I just wanted to help him.

I was so different back then, it's actually pretty hilarious. A mama's boy, a protective big brother. Now I fucking hate my mom and Beavis I could care less about. He's just there so I don't go insane from being alone.

It took a while for Mom to hush my sobs, but when she did, it was because I fell asleep. I just remember her putting me to bed while I cried and then my vision just got blacker until I didn't hear or see anything. I think I fell asleep. I don't know. I don't think Mom left my room until a little while later, either, because the sound of my bed creaking half-woke me up, and when I opened my eyes just a little, the door had just shut. I made nothing of it and fell right back asleep.

…

Mom didn't wake me up the next morning, but when I did wake up, I could hear her downstairs cooking something. Since I was a mess the night before, Mom had totally forgotten to help me put my headgear on for my braces, so I lucked out there. I just went straight downstairs and found her with the phone on her ear. I had learned not to interrupt her while she was on the phone, so I just sat at the kitchen table, kicking my feet patiently. I noted how eerily quiet it was. That shot a sudden feeling of fear through my chest, because if it was quiet and Mom was on the phone and Beavis was _nowhere… _was he dead?

I shot into the living room and he wasn't there. I went down the basement stairs halfway and peeked through the railing into the area where the boxes were, but I didn't see any bloody golden pompadours sticking out between any of them. I then raced upstairs, sprinted through the kitchen past Mom, and searched every room in the upstairs including mine. There were no bloodstains in the bathroom anywhere and the only bloodstains in Beavis's room were the ones that were always there; there was nothing new.

I went back downstairs, going over to Mom and tugging on her sleeve.

"Where is he…?" I sputtered, my eyes watery. They immediately dried up when I saw the look Mom gave me when she looked down – a look of guilt with a smile right after.

"Hey, call me when you get there. I gotta go, Butthead's freaking out here." Mom said to whoever was on the other line, and went over to the bulletin board where the phone was always hung. She returned it to its place and the long cord swung back and forth, hitting the wall a couple times.

"Where's who?" Mom grinned, finding my fear funny, I guess. She sat down in front of me and I sat down myself.

"Beavis."

"Pamela took him to IKEA this morning. I don't know why." She reached over and wiped a lingering tear away from under my eye. "Why are you crying?"

"I just- I- I don't know…" I stuttered, standing up. I eagerly wanted to change the subject because the thought of finding Beavis dead in the basement like I thought I was going to was stuck in my mind and I wanted it to leave. "Are we still going to see your brother today?"

"No, bud," she said, standing back up and plugging in the toaster, "His ex-wife just decided that she needed a spa day and doesn't wanna keep the kids anymore like she promised."

I crinkled my nose. "But he has my cousins every single day of the year! Doesn't she only see them, like, once?"

"Yeah, which is why he was gonna come down and see all of us." She blew out a sigh, putting bread in. "Oh whale. You and I have the whole day to ourselves! What do you wanna do?"

I recalled all those years ago when I got my braces when I just wanted to sleep. Except Beavis wouldn't be with us today… I should take advantage.

"What do _you _want to do?" I smiled, kicking my feet back and forth again. She left the bread to cook and sat down at the chair across from me with folded hands. She pursed her lips and looked at the ceiling.

"Whale," she began (that was her thing, saying 'whale' instead of 'well'), "I was thinking that we could go see a movie and then go out to dinner afterward." She smiled. "How does that sound?"

I agreed to it and found myself so excited throughout the day that I constantly kept checking the clock. I was also finding difficulty in entertaining myself. Sure, there was the TV which I watched 24/7, but Beavis wasn't there. Even though he always wanted me to play with him while I was watching television and I never wanted to, I found myself wishing he was there. But he would be home later that day, probably after Mom and I came home.

…

Mom and I wound up seeing Robocop and went to Olive Garden – the ACTUAL Olive Garden, with the Jesus breadsticks and everything. We both were clearly enjoying ourselves beyond words, since we could finally be alone without a filthy leech-y prostitute or her scrawny son glued to our sides. Mom would start her job at the pediatrician's the next day and she told me she was nervous, but she was excited. I savored every moment of that night, since I figured I would never get it again.

I was right.

…

Pamela and Beavis weren't home when we returned. We pulled into the driveway and were extremely confused when their car wasn't.

"Ummmmm…" Mom frowned, getting out and going right in through the garage door. I trotted behind her curiously. They weren't in the house either.

"Maybe they're still there…?" She shrugged, looking at me. I glanced over at the clock and winced.

"Mom, I don't think they would… it closed over an hour ago. IKEA's not that far away."

"Maybe they're stuck in a jam on the freeway?"

"You don't have to get on the freeway to get there."

She was gnawing on her bottom lip, but she didn't say anything else for a second.

"Why don't I get you to bed? It's awfully late. C'mon." I followed her upstairs to go through my usual nighttime routine.

The entire time she was getting me ready for bed, I could see that Mom was scared. I was scared, too. Where were they? Hopefully they weren't face down in a ditch. I shivered at the thought and gritted my teeth fearfully. Hopefully they were okay.

Once I was in bed, I pulled the covers past my ears and tried to fall asleep, but the strange coldness that wrapped itself around me kept me wide awake the entire night.

…

The next day, they still weren't home. Or the day after that. Or the day after that. Or the day after that.

I wound up throwing up out of nervousness on the third day of them being gone. Finally, Mom decided to call the cops on the fourth day (which was a little late, really) and found out that Beavis was in an orphanage and Pamela was in jail.

I gasped loudly, finding myself stealing B's nervous habit and hugged my elbows to my stomach and my fists to my chest. "What?! Why?"

"I don't know, he didn't say." She was standing next to the marble countertops at the time, and put her elbow on it and held her head in her hands. She groaned.

"What are we gonna do?" I asked, my mouth stuck open in disbelief.

"I'm sure as hell not gonna pay for my nephew!" Mom boomed as she slammed her fist on the counter, scaring me a little. I knew she wasn't mad at me or yelling at me; she just couldn't believe it.

"So…?"

"So I'll tell you what we're gonna do." Mom was across from me in two swift steps and put her hands on the table, leaning forward. "We're gonna steal him."

"Huh?!" I smirked, intrigued. "How?"

"I'm gonna stay up front while you go in through the window and grab him. When you're done, you run back up to me and we go home. Easy as that."

"When are we gonna do that?"

"…Tomorrow. Late at night." She looked determined to get my little brother back. It was like a disease and I caught it too, laughing in excitement. She smirked and ruffled my hair, then continuing to her daily business. I thought the day before was never gonna end; don't even get me _started _on that day.

…

That night, Mom seemed really sad. A whole lot sadder than she was in the morning, and I was starting to think she had depression. She was getting sad real easy, but today she almost looked like she was gonna cry. She had told me at dinner that she wanted me to spend the night with her, and of course I was going to. When I told her I would, her melancholy seemed to lift and she smiled, ruffling my hair like she always did.

She held me, rubbing my back and resting her chin on my head. I just sat there and enjoyed her company, taking in her sweet smell while I wrapped my fingers in her hair.

"You know that I'll always love you, right?" Mom suddenly said, her hand on my back making a bigger circle than they were minutes before.

"Yes." I replied, fear crippling my heart again. What if she was planning on committing suicide? I swallowed hard, the words catching in my throat and forming a lump. They wouldn't come out.

"And that I'll love you no matter what happens ever?" She added, moving her head to my shoulder and putting her lips by my ear. I could feel the moisture of her breath.

"Yes…" I said again, having to then blurt my question in fear that if I didn't it would lump in my throat like starch. "Are you planning on committing suicide, Mommy?"

As a side note: I _never _called her Mommy. Ever. I just used it as a tactic to talk her out of suicide if she was going to commit it. For some reason, the word "mommy" had a lot of emotional tug on a woman's heart than any other word their kid could use.

She was silent for a minute, which induced me to start shaking. She put a hand on my arm to calm me. "Of course not," Mom finally said, her voice quiet and smooth like honey, "I would never be able to do that to you."

I pressed farther. "If I wasn't here, would you… do that?"

I never received a response to my question. Mom didn't even make an effort in answering me, focusing on getting me to fall asleep in her lap. Even though it disturbed me greatly that she clearly was ignoring what I had asked, I managed to do just that. Life is not about what you've experienced altogether, it is about taking advantage of said experiences before you can no longer have them, and then looking back with satisfaction that you did as much as possible.

…

The next day dragged on even worse; the only thing that could keep me entertained was gathering 'supplies' needed for the break-in by sticking them in this tiny bookbag I used in the first grade. The supplies included one of those keychain flashlights (which Mom let me take off of her keys), a spider knife that I shouldn't have been able to reach, some duct tape, one of B's cap guns just in case he wanted to feel like he was contributing to the whole thing; he loved playing pretend, and my beloved baseball bat, which was aggravating me because it wouldn't fit into the bag.

"Do you really need all that?" Mom cocked (uh huh huh huh huh, "cocked", huh huh huh) an eyebrow at me with her trademark grin.

"Yes." I flatly said, wrestling the bat to keep it still while I tried to zip the cheap zipper. Mom watched me struggle for a minute more.

"I'll tell you what," she offered, taking my bat out of the bookbag (which took no effort at all), "I'll keep your bat under the seat of my car."

I nodded at her, looking back down at my bag and zipping it with ease.

"Oh!" She suddenly chirped, and I snapped my head back around with wide eyes. "And you can bring the entire bag with you, but you can only take one of the things with you outside of the car." I slumped my shoulders and stifled a loud moan.

"But _Moooooooom!_" I groaned with a frown. She shook her head.

"I'm putting my foot down. That's way too much to bring with you just to get your brother out of an orphanage. I'm sorry." She closed her eyes like women did when they were telling you that you lost an argument and spun on her heel, going back into the kitchen. I whined, tossing the bag on the couch and throwing myself on a cushion, crossing my arms.

Mom came back out about five minutes later with her usual soft look on her face, but it was quickly wiped off when she found me sitting like that. "Oh, are you pouting?" she raised her voice, placing her hand on her hip, "Nuh uh. I ain't gonna have this shit in my house. Stop." She stood there and I was still sitting like that, and she let out this laughing noise.

"You better knock that look off your face, boy, or I'll do it for you." I felt the muscles in my face shift and I felt relief toward the center of my eyebrows. What look? I was just looking at her. I didn't even know I was glaring. She went back in the kitchen but that didn't mean the lecture was over.

"I don't know what's been with you and this attitude of yours, but you need to stop." She called, tapping a wooden spoon on the edge of a pot, "I'm not sure if it's because Beavis isn't here, or because you're angry that you don't have a dad, but you need to knock it off." The daily pang in my chest hit then. I could hear the regret of her last sentence lingering in the air, and my arms subconsciously wrapped themselves around my middle. It never bothered me that I had no fatherly figure; I was always satisfied with my Mom. Just having one parent was my normal, so of course I never thought twice about it. But what she had just said hurt me for some reason. I guess somewhere inside me, I deeply wanted a father, but knew I could never have one because the only men my Mom slept with were for money and nothing was ever 'real feelings'. I saw her emerge from the kitchen out of the corner of my eye.

"I'm sorry," she apologized, sitting next to me and putting her arm around me, "I shouldn't have said that. Just… watch the attitude, okay?" I nodded and she kissed my forehead, going back to where she was. I just wish I knew where my dad was…

I still don't and I don't think I ever will.

…

It seemed like forever before we left to get B, but when we did, Mom decided that I could get shotgun since it was a special occasion. Pleased that I wasn't condemned to the backseat, I slid my bat under the seat and placed my pack in my lap. The seatbelt was cutting into the base of my neck but I didn't really notice.

Halfway through the ride there, Mom burst into random laughter.

"What's so funny?" I asked confusedly, and she laughed even harder.

"I just can't believe we have to do this." Mom whooped, leaning forward into the steering wheel. Her laughter increased and tears were coming out of her eyes.

"Are you okay?" I tilted my head in concern, but she still laughed.

"Oh, Butthead," she finally answered, her laughter calming as she wiped a tear from her eye, "I just love to laugh as all."

"How come?"

She sighed with a small smile. "Baby, as you've probably already guessed, you're the best thing that ever happened to me. Other than you, I _h-ate _my life!" She laughed again, but I reflected on our conversation the night before and the lump formed again. "So, in order to enjoy it, I laugh at everything. You'll find that if you find humor in everything, life will pass you by much quicker and you'll enjoy it more. I never hear you laugh." She looked over to me. "You should laugh more often."

"But I don't ever find anything funny-"

"-That's your problem! Find humor in everything. Find something funny in the way I'm driving this piece of shit car, or, find humor in the way you tie your own shoes…" I straightened out my legs so I could see my shoes and looked at my laces, which were perfectly neat since Mom was actually the one who tied them. "Just anything. Do Mom a favor."

I nodded with wonder, never hearing of this concept before. I pondered over it the rest of the way there while every once and a while, Mom burst into laughter again if she looked at a tree or passed another car. To a normal person, it probably would've looked like insanity, but to me, it was a beautiful form of it.

Eventually, we pulled into the giant parking lot of the orphanage – which looked like an asylum – and our tires made crackling noises on the gravel. Mom pulled right up to the front door. I was bouncing with excitement, and I looked over with this huge grin on my face—which right away disappeared when I noticed Mom's sudden sadness again.

"Hey," I reached out and put my hand on the side of her face, her sad brown eyes flicking over to meet mine, "Laugh."

She looked me over for a couple of seconds before a small smile crept across her face and a small chuckle escaped her lips. I laughed too, kissing her nose.

"Okay, here's the plan." Mom spoke, holding out a hand for emphasis, "In most orphanages around here, they have the kids' rooms in the back. Go to the back of the building and peek through the windows. When you find him, wake him up, get him out through the window, close it, and come back to the front to meet me. Got it?"

I looked up at the starry night sky through the sunroof (it was a beautiful navy blue with speckled white everywhere) with thought; then nodding at her.

"Yeah, I think I got it!" I chirped, excited to get my brother back. Mom smiled and nodded once firmly.

"Okay, babe. Are you gonna bring one of your things?"

I stiffened but then loosened. That's right, I brought my stuff! I pondered over it for a minute before reaching under the seat and grabbing my baseball bat, which was really thick. I went to race out of the door, but Mom grabbed my arm and pulled me across the center console, squeezing me as tight as I ever thought I could be squeezed.

"I love you so much." She said, which kinda came out of nowhere. I didn't think now was the time to have a family moment, but I shrugged it off and wrapped my arms around her neck, hugging her too.

"I love you too." I replied, and she let me go after a minute, giving me this tiny wave. As I walked around the front of the car, I was still looking at her, and I noticed she was sad again. Her depression was getting really bad; I was gonna need to talk to her about medicine. But that was for another time.

My walk faded into a sprint as I went around the building, finding myself in the back of the towering orphanage. Sure enough, there were a dozen windows. At first, I kind of panicked, because they were awfully small. But then I remembered that Beavis didn't eat often and would be able to fit his skinny frame through it with ease. The only thing was, the windows were a bit higher than my height (which wasn't very tall, but taller than me nonetheless).

I ran over to the first window and wound my arms up, leaping to see through the window. It looked like an empty kitchen, so I went to the next one. Jumping to see through it, it looked like a closet. I moved on. The next couple of windows looked like they were of the side of a chapel, which was also vacant. But after those few windows were over, I leapt only to be greeted by the beginning of a row of beds, all of which had sleeping children inside.

That made it easier! They all slept in the same room like in old movies, so Beavis _had _to be in one of them!

I shuffled to the next window and jumped up, and my heart skipped a beat when I caught a glimpse of what looked like blond hair. I jumped up again and recognized the yellow poof as his. I giggled with excitement and hopped up again, gently knocking on the window once with my knuckles before hitting the ground again. Since Beavis's brain worked differently than others, I knew he'd hear it but the other kids wouldn't. I jumped up again but my eyes failed to meet the bottom of the windowsill. I groaned and leapt up, able to see again. He was still laying down but he was laying differently than I had saw him before, so I knew he had heard me. Once more, I jumped, but my knuckles missed the window and hit the brick instead. I cringed and grasped my wrist, my hand throbbing, but I was determined. Again. My knuckles hit the glass this time.

I then realize that if I was gonna pull him out the window, I wouldn't be able to do it without jumping up and literally pulling him, which could possibly rip his weak arms out of their sockets. I glanced around for anything to stand on, and I found a couple cinderblocks piled up in a corner where the building turned into a right angle. I raced over there and lugged them quickly one at a time, before I piled them up and stood on them. My eyes then met up with the bottom of the window and they squinted with happiness when mine met up with a pair of cyan blue eyes, which belonged to him. He had been sitting up, staring at the window, but now he was right in front of me, eagerly unlocking it. He swung it open with one swift move.

"Butthead!" he cried as he tried to hug me through the open window. I panicked, unsure how to get him to be quiet, and grabbed his lips.

"Hush…" I instructed him as I craned my neck to look inside the room. Thankfully, all the other orphans were sleeping. I put my neck back and looked at his eager face. "My mom's out front in the car waiting. We're gonna take you home." He nodded and I reached under his armpits, beginning to pull on him. Ducking his head so it would fit under the window, I managed to stop him so his stomach was balancing on the sill. I gave my arms a break for a minute before reaching behind him, wrapping my arms around his thighs. This part was gonna be tricky since I didn't have a place to back up onto, I could only go down. I leant back as far as I could go, getting his lower half out of the window, and I set him on the cinderblocks, hopping backwards and landing on the mulch. Beavis then jumped off, too, but winced as soon as his feet hit the ground. I raised an eyebrow in confusion. Even though he hurt himself, a smile was on his face.

"Ow." He giggled, and I looked down at his feet, which were bare and currently being stabbed on the bottom by pieces of mulch. I sighed and picked him up bridal-style, carrying him out onto the gravel (which still probably hurt him but you know, I wasn't gonna carry him the whole way), and smiled a toothy smile, my braces glinting in the light of the stars.

"Come on!" I cried out with excitement, running out to the front of the building where Mom was. I was so psyched to reunite the three of us, seeing as our lives were gonna get better with no Pamela around. Except… when we ran around the side of the building, she… wasn't… there.

My heart sank as I walked out to the middle of the front lot, looking around for her car, which might've been parked to the side or something. I dropped my bat. She was nowhere to be found.

"What…?" My voice squeaked as I fought off tears (and I NEVER cried). I turned around to look at Beavis with my palms open and facing him. He had his elbows hugged to his stomach and his fists to his chest, and his mouth was open and his eyes wide as they looked me over. "She was just here…" I grimaced, looking around some more. Beavis said nothing.

I suddenly grew very aggravated and I walked back over to Beavis, ripping at the sleeve of his shirt and dragging him towards this bush, knocking him off balance.

"Wait! I don't wanna go back in there!" Beavis shrieked, trying to escape my grip, but it was strong.

"Re_lax._" I growled at him, stopping in front of the bush (huh huh huh huh huh!). "We're just going in this bush here. We'll spend the night in it, and if my mom doesn't come back, we're going home."

I pulled him in after me, nestling myself in as comfortably as I could. Beavis sat next to me, wrapping his arms around my right one and snuggling into me, falling asleep almost instantly. I wish I could've given in to sleep as easily as he had, but I sadly didn't. My eyes were wide open, watching the parking lot, seldom blinking. I took note of my bat, which sat in the middle of the gravel. I should've gotten up then to retrieve it, but I found myself wrapped in sadness and despair and disbelief that Mom would've abandoned me that I stayed right there.

Throughout the night, I felt the mosquitoes puncture my skin, the ants pinch it, and the spiders ripping at it. By morning, I was covered in red, blotchy marks – some also because of the stray sticks poking me from the inside of the bush – and my skin was covered in a thin layer of dew. About an hour after sunrise, I felt Beavis shift next to me as he woke up. I didn't look at him, though. My eyes were stuck in a stare straight ahead of me in hopes that Mom would pull into the parking lot out of nowhere. When I felt Beavis look at me, I tugged on his arm, emerging from the bush.

"Come on." I sighed shakily. Beavis didn't say anything. As we walked past the bat, I swiftly scooped it up with one move. We walked for what seemed like forever until we actually made it home, our calves and heels aching something terrible. My heart sank even deeper into my stomach when Mom's car wasn't in the driveway. The front door was locked but I plucked one of the sticks that were lodged into the fabric of my clothing into the lock and jiggled it, pushing inside.

Nothing was there. Our living room was empty.

Looking into the kitchen from the front door, it was also empty.

Either we had been robbed, or Mom took all of our shit when she decided to abandon me.

She left the TV, though. Probably because she knew it was my favorite.

I was suddenly full of adrenaline as I raced through the kitchen – empty – and into every room of the upstairs, similarly to how I was searching for Beavis's body a few days before. Every single room except ours' were empty. I sank to my knees in Mom's old room, where the bedframe was the only thing that remained. I had sat in this room with her not even 20 hours before.

"Beavis!" I cried out, gripping my hair, "Everything's _gone!_" My voice sounded much squeakier.

"Everything?" B echoed. He was speaking at room level. I let out this yelp.

"Yes, everything! Our moms' rooms ain't got nothing in them, the kitchen's bare, and all our rooms have are the dressers and beds!" Hysteria suddenly wrapped its greasy fingers around my throat and I felt my face flush with anger. I stormed down the stairs into the kitchen doorway, where I saw Beavis standing across the room in the same position he was in when we walked in. I shot my arm up and pointed it at him and he flinched with confusion, taking a step back. A sudden pain in my stomach made me double over.

"_This is all_ your _fault!_" I screeched at him, my throat burning.

I noticed Beavis began to shake. For some reason, whenever he got yelled at, his mouth would get really dry, his palms would sweat, and he'd shake really bad. Probably because of how Pamela beat him.

"What? All _my _fault?!" he cried, looking honestly and truly lost. I flared up and stomped toward him, making him extremely nervous, and I had forced him to back into the wall. I jabbed my finger right in between his eyebrows.

"Yes! It's all your fault! It's all your fault that my mom left me at that orphanage, it's all your fault that my mom had to sell herself to keep us all alive, and it's ALL YOUR FAULT that my family isn't rich, or that my face is messed up too, or that I don't have a man to call my dad! You interfered with my life! It could've been perfect, but you had to come in with your whore mom and ruin it!" I could feel the searing heat of anger all over my face. Beavis looked like he was about to cry under me. He opened his mouth, his lips shaking, but all he made was this weird indescribable noise. Hysteria attacked me and I suddenly found myself gripping the collar of his shirt, slamming him against the wall and immediately dropping him, his tailbone crunching on the floor. I felt words rise in my throat and they just spewed out of my mouth like vomit. "_You're stupid and an idiot and I wish you were dead! Better yet, never born!_" The last sentence formed the infamous lump in my throat that I always got, but I managed to cough it up. "I hate you!" I spat in his face, covering mine with the back of my hand and running upstairs to my room. I ripped at the doorknob and slammed my door shut, shaking the entire foundation of the house. I threw myself on my bed and rolled over so I could look at the ceiling.

My breathing was loud, heavy, and pissed. If we wouldn't have had to play hero and save Beavis, Mom would still be here. I felt tears well up in the corner of my eyes but I furiously wiped them away. Not since I was an infant had I cried; I wasn't going to do it now.

A couple hours later, I heard Beavis gently knock on my door. I didn't call to him or get up or anything. I still stared at the plain white ceiling like I had been the entire night. However, I did turn to glance under my door, where I saw shadows blocking the light from the hallway where his feet were. After a little bit I saw him walk away and heard the sound of his bedroom door shutting shortly after.

My breathing got heavier. I also felt my lips begin to quiver and I realized that it was becoming harder to resist tears. I rolled on my side and curled into the fetal position, hugging my stomach. I wasn't about to become some weak baby. I just had to adjust to this new life as all. I felt a warm tear begin to roll down my cheek and a small whine break loose from my lips. Yet I still laid there and fought the sadness as hard as I could. When my vision started to blur, I couldn't take it anymore.

I let out this deafening howl, hugging myself tightly. Tears uncontrollably rolled down my face as I breathed staggeringly, my head hanging. How could Mom do this to me? How could you do that to somebody you claimed you loved? I didn't get it at all; I was so confused.

Despite my hate toward the feeling to cry, it felt nice to let everything out at the exact same time. The only problem was since I held everything in, there was a lot to come out (…huh huh huh huh!).

My sobbing never really slowed down for a while. Eventually, I got tired of hugging myself and I got under the covers, hugging one of my pillows instead. Sticking my face in it, I cried even harder, my voice muffled by the stuffed fabric.

In fact, now that I think about it, I don't think there was ever a point where my crying ceased. I just passed out from breathing too quickly.

I really hated Mom. That bitch left me to raise Beavis alone. How the hell was I supposed to do that?!

But I missed her. I miss her so much. She was the only thing that could wear down my sarcastic, secretive, and tough outer coating and now how nice I really could be. I wish she still lived with us. If I ever had a problem, I could always tell her and trust her to keep it a secret. She was the same way and she often vented to me things that she was upset about because she knew I'd listen. It was nice to have the trust of an adult, so it's a shame I'm not such a good person today because I'll never know what it's like again.

…

I wouldn't talk to Beavis for about a week. He really pissed me off by doing absolutely nothing, I now realize, and he was a bit puzzled to say the least. But after I started talking to him again things slowly seemed to return to normal. Save for my personality.

Thanks to Mom abandoning me, the sour, sarcastic, and mean part of me that you know me as really began to show. I wouldn't ever say much, but if I did, it probably wasn't going to be very nice and I probably was going to make you feel bad about yourself. I'll be honest here—I'm a bit of an asshole.

So for five years after, I chipped away at Beavis's self-esteem with my words, put up the walls that Mom made sure were down so she could understand me better, and turned into a delinquent. At first, I hadn't intended on it. You guys remember Dave, from that one episode Way Down Mexico Way? (Yes, I know I'm a cartoon character, shut up.) Yeah, we weren't just randomly friends, you know. Dave started out as my, uh… drug dealer.

Somewhere around age twelve, I began seeing the world a lot differently than I normally saw it, which wasn't a good thing at all. Days were never sunny; always cloudy, anytime Beavis would open his mouth to say something, I'd want to break all his teeth… and I just seemed sad. That brought me back to always seeing how somber Mom was, crying her eyes out when she thought nobody was around. I figured that I had depression since she did—maybe I did, maybe I didn't. I may have brought the grayness onto myself by thinking if Mom had it then it could've been genetic. Then, I remembered how she'd get it to go away—with marijuana and cocaine.

So guess what I did!

It was a terrible habit that I wanted to kick, but I couldn't. I always did them in the basement since Beavis didn't like the smell of pot smoke. Whenever I got high, I'd stumble upstairs and try to sweet talk B into doing them with me.

"No thank you." He'd always politely say, bringing a cigarette up to his lips. He liked to smoke those instead.

Also, in the midst of all that, I was beginning to enjoy robbing people. I'd normally go down to the trailer parks and bust down those tin doors and steal stuff like lamps or TVs (which I always forgot the fucking remotes to). That's how I stole our couch!

But then I got Beavis into crime, which he didn't really like at first. Reluctantly, he'd graffiti the undersides of bridges with me and occasionally rob a trailer or two. Huh huh, the first time he ever robbed with me was pretty funny. It was around eleven at night and you could hear the crickets chirping and the sounds of the summer night buzzing, the streetlights throughout the park dimly lighting up our paths.

"Are you sure this is the right thing?" Beavis twitched, glancing around nervously while I examined the door of this tiny trailer to see where its weakest point was. Even after all those years, he never abandoned the habit of balling his fists up at his chest. I pounded my fist once against a certain area on the door and it dented inwards, providing a small dark opening (huh huh huh) where you could look through inside the trailer. I stood straight up and "hmph"-ed. They really needed to make doors for these things that were more secure.

"No." I admitted bluntly, turning to look at B. He looked me over like he always did and you could see the seven-year-old in his face, staring at me in a dark parking lot while I sniffed around it like some hunting dog. I swatted the memory away, but it returned when I looked at him again, and I burst into sudden hysterical laughter.

"What's so funny…?" Beavis inquired, leaning forward a little to see if there was anything on the ground that perhaps sprouted my laughter. I cackled even louder, having to just about sit down on one of my feet and balancing on one knee, resting my elbow on my kneecap while I doubled over, tears in my eyes.

"Are you okay?" He jogged a few quick steps over to me and took a knee, looking me in the eyes. My mouth was curved into an open half smile, my protruding gums beginning to dry out.

"Absolutely nothing," I breathed, my voice incomprehensible through my uncontrollable laughter.

"Huh?" B sounded extremely worried, turning his head so his ear was closer to my mouth so he could hear me better. My guffaws began to calm down and I placed my right hand on his right cheek and my left hand under his chin, holding his head.

"Absolutely nothing," I repeated, much more clearly this time, "Absolutely nothing is funny."

Beavis moved his head out of my hands and I let my fingertips barely touch the ground to hold me up and keep balance. He looked extremely bemused.

"Then why are you laughing?"

I was hit with sudden realization then. I was trying to enjoy the moment. I knew what I what I was giggling at.

"You'll find that life will pass you by much quicker and that you'll enjoy it more if you just laugh at everything," I explained, his eyes wide with wonder, "So, while nothing is funny, everything is funny."

He looked completely lost, his curly blond eyebrows scrunched. "That doesn't make sense. That's an… I think, an… oxymoron…?" I went into another fit of laughter and I saw Beavis glance around the empty trailer park to see if anybody was watching us. He leant over a little to look through the hole in the door my fist revealed to see for any signs that the occupants were awake. He failed to find proof that they were.

"That's what you are!" I yelled in amusement, Beavis not finding it funny and actually going as far as frowning.

"That's not very nice, Butthead."

"Oh, shut up, bunglick." I punched his shoulder lightly and stood up, him mimicking me and doing the same. "The world isn't nice, which is exactly why you're about to do this. Now since trailers are small we don't have much time, so quickly look around to see something worth stealing, grab it, and get the hell outta there."

I didn't give him time to respond. That was when I stuck four of my fingers into the hole I had made and began to push on the door, bending the metal even more and causing the top of it to pull inward. A couple more seconds of pushing and the door finally gave in, it hitting the floor with a very loud clang. I heard the residents to my right gasp themselves awake in fear and I ran to the left of the trailer, picking up this lamp that I saw. I looked around in a panic for Beavis, who was frozen outside where the door once was.

"_What the hell are you doing?_" I shouted at him, hoisting the giant lamp over my shoulder, ripping its plug from the wall, "_Grab something!_"

My words shook him out of his state and his eyes darted around for a second before he went to leap in the trailer. Instead of getting inside, his foot caught on the bottom of the trailer and he tripped forward in one swift motion, getting a face full of tin.

The occupants were fully awake now, turning on a bedside lamp next to them. The woman screamed her head off, pulling the quilt up past her chest (which automatically made me assume she was naked) and the man yelled out at us, reaching down under the bed to grab for something. My heart fell into my feet with newfound terror when I realized it was probably a shotgun.

Meanwhile, in all the chaos, Beavis was squirming like a worm in the rain on top of the fallen door. My attention went back to the man who was still trying to get the thing under his bed and my teeth gritted themselves in horror, and I ran over to B, yanking on his arm to pull him up. He was limp.

"_Beavis!_" I cried out at him, looking over at the terrified woman again, "_Grab something! Hurry up!_"

He seemed to be brought back into reality again and he made a collection of quick, stuttering moans in hysteria, before running over to the wall. His scrawny, short arms reached up at this painting (which I couldn't make out what it was since I was too focused on how my heart was about to pound out of my chest and hit the floor), plucking it off in one quick move. By the time he had done that, both of our heads turned to the man, who had just pulled the gun out and was loading it. The lamp still on my shoulder, I ripped at his hand, pulling him out the trailer door.

Our feet hit the gravel at the exact same time and I felt a lot of pressured force on my ankles and almost fell over. But as soon as I recollected myself we both ran like hell, Beavis whipping his head around behind us.

"_Oh my God, Butthead, I think he's gonna shoot_!" Beavis cried out, the painting tucked under his right arm. It was small. I turned my head behind me, my eyes squinted so the wind didn't dry them out. We had slowed somewhat so I could turn and see, but I just about shit myself when a bullet ricocheted off the ground only a couple feet behind us. The man was waving the gun in the air like some kind of psycho, shouting words that my hearing was garbling in fear.

"_Run faster!_" I barked out, my voice cracking, and we did. When we reached an area a couple yards ahead of us where the trailers were scattered in no particular order, and I pulled Beavis in, weaving ourselves in and out of all the trailers so the man couldn't have a set aim. I didn't hear his shouting anymore and there were no other gunshots, but we still raced the hell outta there.

We didn't stop running until we were back onto the country road that it was on. Beavis was trying to gulp in air so badly that I was starting to think he had asthma or something.

"What," he gasped, "Was that?!"

"A robbery," I was breathing heavily too, but not as bad as him. I shifted the lamp to my other shoulder. "Although I normally get out of there before they can react. What was your deal back there?"

"I'm sorry!" he squeaked, doubling over to get more air, "I panicked! Robbing people is the wrong thing! We could go to jail and nobody would be there for us to bail us out and we could drop the soap—"

"—But come on." I smirked, Beavis standing up straight again and looking at me like I had just announced that we should fling ourselves off the side of a cliff, "You didn't get this awesome rush of adrenaline back there?"

I saw Beavis's face contort to prepare himself to lie, but he let out a sigh of either defeat or he was still breathing really heavy. He shook his head. "Okay, you got me there." I let out this chuckle of triumph.

"See? I told you you'd like it!" I elbowed him in a tease and he stumbled to the side a little, smiling at the ground.

There was a couple minutes of silence as we trekked down the quiet road past cornfields and whatnot, with the occasional car passing by us, blinding us with their headlights. But then, I heard Beavis making this weird, repetitive grunting sound. I looked over in curiosity with my eyebrow hunched and I saw he was biting on his bottom lip, too. I giggled a little.

"What are you doing?" I questioned him and he glanced over.

"Just taking your advice that you gave me earlier."

"I don't remember suggesting to you that you make constipated grunts while we walk home from a robbery."

"No, the thing you said about laughing at everything." My face softened a little and it was my turn to look him over like he always did to me.

"Are you really?"

"Yeah." He made the grunting noise a couple times again. "I mean, this life sucks anyway, so why not find hilarity in everything?"

He was right. But I could tell by the way my heart was thumping quietly against my ribcages that I recognized that statement. It sounded like Mom could've said it and I could've sworn I heard her voice talking with his. I sheepishly shifted the weight of the lamp again to distract me from thinking of her.

But part of me wondered after that if one of the cars that passed by us was hers.

…

The painting he had grabbed was in fact not a painting but a portrait of an older man holding up a fish on a dock. Once we were in the light and comfort of our own home, we both got a good laugh out of it.

"Nice," I teased him, "You should steal pictures of people we don't even know more often."

"Hey, what the hell," he began a suggestion, sticking his hand inside our couch cushions and rummaging for a second before withdrawing a rusty nail, "Who says we can't use this?" He stood up on the arm of the couch on his side and held the nail to the wall, tossing the portrait on the cushion. He pounded it into the wall with his fist and looked down at me, flexing his fingers wordlessly. I grabbed the picture and gave it to him, and he hung it on the nail. After making a couple adjustments to the frame, he hopped down and placed his fists on his hips, staring at it.

"There, see?" He said. "Perfect."

I plugged in the tall lamp that I stole next to my place on the couch. It looked nice there, and even though I wouldn't admit it, so did the picture.

I brought him on a couple more robberies after that, but not many more. I was getting too into the pot I was buying to really do anything else besides smoke it. But at least I was able to help him learn a lesson that wasn't the whole 'laughing' thing: watch where your feet are before you're gonna jump into a trailer when you're about to rob it.

…

Over the next couple of years, Dave cut off his drug supply to me because we forgot to tie the condoms when we went down to Mexico, leading me into a drug withdrawal and I forced Beavis to stop smoking his cigarettes. But after we were done with our withdrawals which were making us act like girls when they're on their, uh… huh huh huh huh huh… um. We were fine after that.

Beavis didn't go on his sugar hypes anymore because we were too poor to afford anything sugary. That was nice, because I wasn't sure what I was going to do if he ever did get wound up like that. Fruity Whips didn't get him, though, so I guess they're used with artificial sugaring.

Except when we went over to Stewart's house this one time when he had the shits and Beavis went insane and raided the cupboards. _That _was when the sugar hypes returned and he started to freak out like he did when he was really little. The only thing was, he wasn't afraid of everything anymore; it was actually kinda the opposite. Everything belongs to him and he is everything's ruler and bow down to him, peasant, and bring offerings of toilet paper with you. It didn't make sense to me. But he called himself Cornholio and pulled his shirt over his head. He also always whipped his face back and forth, making his cheeks hit off the sides of his teeth, and then said things like, "asdhfsdhfsdnjk" that you could never understand. But, I remembered what Mom said all those years ago about how important it was to stay with him when he was on those things so he didn't get into trouble, so I always had to sit next to him and feel like an ass when he went off like that.

This one time when we were at Burger World, we got this shipment of new soda in called Volt Cola, and he went _insane. _Then this police officer or whatever came in and asked about Mexicans, to which I was like, "Uh… What?" Then Cornholio was spazzing out in the back room yelling something about buttholes and the guy saw. I didn't really notice at first because I was used to it.

"What's with him?" He questioned me, "What the hell language is he speaking?"

_Beats the fuck outta me, sir. _"Uhhh… hmm. I dunno." I said when I turned back to look at my dumbass half-brother, who was flailing around with a spatula back there in the meantime. It was pretty funny when the guy started shouting Spanish at him and Beavis repeated it, because he'd to that when he was all hyped up. You could say anything to him and he'd repeat you, with either, 'for my bunghole', 'Nicaragua', or 'askdksdj' at the end of the sentence. The deportation guy didn't know that. I let him back there and continued to rest my chin in my hand while I stood at the boring friggin' register while I waited for a poor soul to wander in and spend way too much on food that wasn't worth it.

I worked until like, six that night. I heard it get quiet back there after I let the officer back and I just figured he let himself out the back door when Beavis passed out with his head in the cleaning bucket, because he's done that before on more than one occasion. But that was until I went to clock out and the fatass manager came over to me holding a note.

"Butthead, did you get a visit from an immigration officer this morning?" He asked me without taking his eyes off of the fancy looking paper.

"Uhhhhh…" I began, looking at the ceiling. "No. But there was this guy who was babbling about Mexicans." I was doing that laugh of mine that I had. You know, my 'uh huh huh'-ing. I had adopted it after that night Beavis and I almost got bullets in our heads when we robbed that guy.

The manager groaned, running a hand down his face. "Butthead, that was an immigration officer."

"Oh. Cool, I guess."

"No. _Not _cool." He flicked the paper forward quickly to straighten it out and brought it closer to his face, adjusting his nerdy little glasses. "It says here that he took Beavis – who he claims is an illegal alien doing illegal work in America – down to Mexico." He scrunched his eyebrows momentarily before raising his voice a little. "And since he was carrying no proof of citizenship, they're going to shut down this Burger World joint!"

I laughed at the word joint.

The manager seemed flustered, his glasses low on his nose. He looked furious. "Butthead, I thought he was your brother! You're clearly not Mexican!"

"_Half-_brother." I said as-a-matter-of-factly, crossing my arms. "I'm not. I don't know why they would think he's—" I stopped in the middle of my sentence. _Oh shit._ My eyes opened a little wider and my mouth opened a bit. I forgot about Cornholio.

The manager angrily flailed his arms and threw the paper into the air, it floating gently to the ground and landing right in front of my feet. "_This isn't good at all!_ They're gonna shut this place down, Butthead! Unless, of course, we can locate his… birth records." He exhaled, relieved. "Okay, so they can just do that tomorrow. Great." And with that, he turned around, leaving the paper on the floor, and walked right back to his office without even acknowledging me.

_Hey, your half-brother's been alone in Mexico for a good seven hours, but at least they won't shut down the restaurant which should really be shut down anyway for health violations and ridiculous prices! Yay!_

I groaned, clocking out for real this time and rode my bike home. I knew exactly how I was gonna get there.

The phone call to Dave was awkward. It was kinda like this: "Hey, yeah. Hey, wait, lemme talk here. So- So Beavis was deported to Mexico- yeah, I don't know. Beavis was deported to Mexico and I have no way of- oh come on. Please? I'm sorry I didn't, I didn't tie the ends. You told us after we swallowed them. Come on. I know. I know. Yeah. I don't know how he- yeah. Please? Yeah- really? Really? You will? Yes, I know. I don't want any, no. Yeah. Yeah, okay. Okay, yeah- like, right now? Okay. Yeah, okay, see you in a few."

He didn't seem too happy at first that he had to take me, but he warmed back up to me, I guess. He dropped me off at the same place he dropped me off the last time he brought me down here, and drove off to tend to his drug camel business. I didn't mind Mexico during the day as much, but Mexico at night was kinda unsettling.

Rather than all the people walking by and minding their own business, they hushed their conversations and stopped walking and turned to stare at you, never blinking once. I nervously started to walk that walk that you do when you think about the fact that you're walking (and you know, your hips kinda start to swing and your steps are shorter) and stared at my shoes. I wondered if they were all thinking about jumping the skinny white boy wearing the girly red visor and matching polo shirt.

I was really starting to crawl out of my skin by the time I had reached the end of the block. My arms were glued to my sides and my knees were stuck together, and my fingers were outstretched.

"_Beavis!_" I quickly hissed, looking around to see if he popped out from anywhere. Nope. "_Beavis, I'm gonna—_" I shut up when I saw a person appear out of nowhere in the side of my vision. I turned my body at like, a thirty degree angle to turn and see them, but it was a kid about ten. He crept toward me and got too close for comfort, examining me like I was an alien or something. I felt sweat begin to come out of places I never thought was possible as this kid stood like an inch away. "_Beavis, I'm gonna kick your ass!_"

I finally stepped away from the psycho kid and wandered around a little while more. The air didn't smell like tacos and recently-detonated fireworks like it did during the day. Instead, it smelled more like what I imagined what dead body smelled like and I didn't like that at all. But at least I was getting used to the feeling of twenty pairs of eyes on me at all times so I wasn't walking as stiff as I was before.

Eventually I was exhausted and considered just laying down on the cold concrete sidewalk, hoping that maybe Dave would drive by in that crumbly blue pickup of his and pick me up. Maybe if he thought I was asleep or dead or something I wouldn't have to swallow another condom full of pills.

Right when I was gonna sit down on the sidewalk, I saw an orange glowing light in my peripheral vision. I looked over and noticed that it was coming from the inside of a window of an adobe house. I figured you know what, screw it, I was gonna look in through the window.

I crossed the street and went up to the side of the house, and I groaned with frustration. This window was only a little taller than I was. I was never going to be able to look straight into a window without jumping, apparently, because fuck me, right?

I leapt up and my eyes aligned with the bottom of the sill. There were Mexicans in there, obviously. I jumped again. When I fell, I could've sworn I caught a glimpse of white skin. But that would only be in a perfect world.

Ladies and gentlemen, when you are in the business of being a cartoon character, you'll find that situations will be perfect at times. This was one of those times.

I ran around to the front door and knocked on it, waiting for someone to answer it. A tall but wide Mexican woman cracked it open, standing in front of the crack (huh huh) to block me from running in just in case I was going to.

"¿Cuál es su negocio aquí?" she said to me. I had absolutely _no _idea what she had just said whatsoever.

"Uhhhhhh…" I quietly croaked, not sure of what to say in case she didn't speak English. She shook her head and clicked her tongue.

"Deja, blanquito." She hissed before slamming the door in my face. I knocked again.

"Wait!" I yelled, knocking on the door still, "I lost my gringo and I think he's in there. Can I like, just look? I won't be long."

The woman cracked open the door again, sticking her eye against it. It was a darker brown than mine.

"Gringo?" She repeated, really rolling the 'r'.

"Yes, my gringo. Can I, ummm… _please _look?"

The lady sighed and opened the door, mumbling something in rapid Spanish while I walked inside. Sure enough, in the back of the room was Beavis, making conversation with a bunch of other Mexican people with a burrito in his hand.

"Beavis!" I called out to him and his head shot up. He looked lost at first but when he realized it was me, a smile spread across his face and he started to giggle.

"Hi, Butthead!" he chirped, waving at me. I went over to him.

"Beavis, what the hell are you doing?"

"I, uh, I uh…" He scrunched his eyebrows, grunting, "Eating a burrito, heh heh."

"Why would you get deported to Mexico?!"

"You know, I'm not sure, actually. I just kinda found myself down here." An emotion I was unable to pinpoint suddenly washed over his face and he stood up. "Oh yeah!" He pointed to a man at the end of the circle. "This is Juan, that's Pablo, and over there's Consuela!" He gestured back toward the door and I turned around, only to find out he was talking about the lady who let me in. She lifted her head at the sound of her name. "Hi, Consuela!" Beavis cried, waving frantically again. Consuela gave a have smile and a little wave, but she looked agitated.

"That's Consuela," he beamed, the friendly look he always had visible, "She's the one who took me in here."

"Consuela's kind of a bitch." I bluntly added. Beavis looked horrified.

"Butthead, she speaks English!" Beavis cried quietly. My eyes widened.

"Woah, really?"

"Yes, you idiotic American boy!" Consuela hissed behind me in a severely heavy Spanish accent, "How else would I know to let you in?"

Beavis shrugged at me with a smirk. I wanted to break his teeth.

"Come on, let's go," I said, pulling on his arm, "Dave's gonna take us back up."

"Dave?"

"Yes, Dave. I talked him into it. Hopefully you're ready to swallow another condom."

Consuela looked utterly disgusted, glaring at me because of what I just said. I pondered over how she could've interpreted that and began to panic. "No, wait, full of drugs! Not like—"

"—Enough." Consuela sighed (which she did a lot) as she waved her hand to the door.

"Bye, Consuela!" Beavis waved his hand again as I practically dragged him out the door back into the night heat.

"You owe me half of that burrito for making me come down here." I ordered him, holding out my hand. He shrugged.

"Fair enough, I guess." He accepted as he handed me the rest of what remained. It was purely Mexican and tasted how a burrito SHOULD taste, not that plastic shit they sell up in America.

We made our way back to the meeting spot and Dave burnt rubber to get to us. I could hear the angry shouting of Mexicans behind us – and remembered that that's what we heard the first time down too – and hauled ass into the cabin of the truck. Actualization helped me realize that he stole the drugs. Shame on me for thinking he bought them.

So history repeated itself and we swallowed the condoms (we tied the ends this time) and got stopped by border patrol. We didn't have to walk across the desert to get home, though, since we didn't royally screw up this time.

When he dropped us off at home, Beavis eagerly hopped out of the truck, ready to take off his tight Burger World uniform and change into his usual stuff, but I stayed behind for a second. Closing the door of the truck, I stood on the tips of my toes to peek inside the window.

"So does this mean you'll supply my drugs again?" I nicely asked to persuade him. He stared at me with a blank expression.

"No." he flatly said, flying out of the driveway after that and speeding down the road.

It's a bittersweet relationship.

…

After that, the stuff that you already know about happened. Beavis told the school that we died and therefore we got a jar full of money, we now have eleven rats thanks to the one we were gonna keep having babies, and we got stuck in an elevator twice in one day. I'm used to the life I have now and really, I can't remember much about Mom's voice. All I have to remember her by is pictures and the memories I have of her.

Oh yeah! I never got around to looking at the wedding pictures in the box where Mom found her medical degree. I had forgotten about it by the end of the night and it never crossed my mind again until years later. I don't think I'm gonna look. It's best just to leave the idea of having parents alone so I don't get accustomed to it again. If you're not gonna live in the future, live in the present. Sure as hell don't go wallowing around in the past.

Beavis doesn't really talk about Pamela, either. However, when we were in Vegas on the way to our hotel after getting kicked out of the casino, he randomly asked the taxi driver where a good place to find a hooker would be. I thought he was just being funny and laughed at him, but he told me recently that the reason they went to IKEA that morning was so Pamela could abandon him and run away to Vegas with her biker friends. Somewhere deep in my chest, in this area where they say a heart should be, I felt an ache when I realized he was asking where the hookers were so he could find _her. _

Ah, whale. Stuff's been kinda boring lately. It's our senior year and all the teachers are acting like wusses everyday talking about how 'we're all a fine crop of young students who are going to do so much with our success in the business world'. Or maybe that was just Van Dreissen. I dunno, huh huh!

Maybe I'll take Beavis down to another strip club parking lot to look around for stuff. Last time we went, we found a bunch of grapes and a wine bottle full of spiders!

He might've ruined my life (or so I claim), and he might get on my nerves 23 hours of the day, but Beavis really isn't that bad, I guess.

…

**If you're reading this—you brave soul, you just read 35 pages worth of fanfiction! I found Butthead a lot harder to write for since… I don't know, Beavis was just easier since he seems like he would seek protection of somebody more than BH would. And Beavis would admit if he was scared, or "freaked out" as he always says, but BH wouldn't. So it was kinda hard to keep him in character, so sorry if he seemed out of it. I tried as hard as I can ;-;**

**Anyways, thanks so much for reading, it means a lot! I would love it if you'd review it! I love reading reviews, they always make me smile—either because someone liked my story, or because somebody has given me a useful writing tip to help me get better. :P**

**Enjoy the rest of your day and have fun surfing FanFiction!**


End file.
